


Pining Idiots

by Omegarose



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: 2014?, Can be read alone, F/M, Getting Together, M/M, Mid-Season 02, Multi, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Trevor is a big angst boi idiot but that's okay, god when is the last time I wrote a song fic like this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:08:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26358478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omegarose/pseuds/Omegarose
Summary: Trevor loves them, but thinks they wouldn't love him.Sypha loves them, and in doing so loses so much.Adrian loves them, so much that his heart could burst.
Relationships: Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Sypha Belnades, Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades, Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades
Comments: 25
Kudos: 77





	1. Heather

_I still remember_

_the third of December_

_me in your sweater_

_you said it looked better_

_on me than it did you_

_only if you knew_

_how much I liked you_

It hadn’t taken long for Trevor to...acclimate to his two travelling companions.

Given his decade-long stint as a drunkard drifter, perhaps it should have taken him longer to grow used to the demands of other people. “Wake up and get moving, Belmont,” “We’ve got to eat something, and I swear if it’s not warm I’ll scream and draw the attention of every night creature in our vicinity _anyways_ ,” and “You can’t expect me, a Speaker, to walk in silence, so either converse with me or I’ll recite the entire history of the Belnades caravan again!” were common to hear from Sypha.

She was demanding in a way Trevor wasn’t used to from someone who wasn’t a stuck up prick or a suspicious and bitter old matron, but Trevor felt no anger towards her for it. She only asked for what she needed or that which they could easily provide, and was reasonable in her directing of their travels. She spoke plainly, too, which only endeared Trevor to her more. Men and women from all walks always seemed to be twisting their words—either unintentionally in circles or by lying through their teeth.

But not Sypha.

Sypha was different, with her fiery curls cut short and boyish, her robes shapeless but still an eye-catching blue, her magic cracking ice and crackling heat in turn. Sypha with her calloused feet and muscled legs, Sypha with her bounding hope, Sypha with enough rage to match her unerring kindness.

She was kind to him when she shouldn’t be, he thought. He’d done nothing of note to earn it, especially since she’d made it clear that his initial saving of her life wouldn’t make up for the rudeness. Perhaps she’d found something redeemable enough, though, to smile when they crossed gazes, and ask after his health after every fight, and wedge her frozen toes under his thigh while warming his cold fingers between her palms.

_but I watch your eyes_

_as she walks by_

_what a sight for sore eyes_

_brighter than a blue sky_

_she's got you mesmerized_

_while I die_

Adrian was not the same as Sypha.

He spoke less, was more likely to turn down an offer of comfort than ask for it, and all together seemed to take up less space.

Trevor hated him, a little bit, but no less than Adrian hated Trevor. Probably hated Trevor. Should hate Trevor. The both of them were just such bastards they were bound to clash. Adrian with his stupid sword and hair and brooding, Trevor with his drinking and crudeness and pessimism.

There was, obviously, the matter of their births to consider. Born rivals, them. Belmonts had been sworn to kill Dracula since Leon Belmont had first come to Wallachia, nothing to speak of the other creatures of the night. Adrian was the _son_ of Dracula, a half vampire.

Sypha got along with Adrian, though, seemed to really truly like him despite all his faults. Trevor tried to ignore the feelings twisting up his guts as he saw just _how_ much Sypha liked Adrian, and how much he liked her back. If she could get Adrian talking they could go on for hours—growing up with Dracula as a father apparently led to being fascinating to young Speakers who hadn’t gone all that far from her caravan. Trevor, uneducated past twelve, had little choice but to listen to Adrian weave tales of magic so commonplace to him he thought it a human capability, without being able to so much as muster up a comment.

_why would you ever kiss me?_

_I'm not even half as pretty_

_you gave her your sweater_

_it's just polyester_

_but you like her better_

_wish I were Heather_

It was in the casual way Sypha rested her head on Adrian’s shoulder, too, the sappy grin she’d get when she watched him talk with his eyes locked on something long-passed, how she pulled him in again and again even after he tried to refuse. How he offered her his elbow despite her blatantly ignoring it, how he seemed to soften when she spoke to him, how he extended true care for her well-being at the smallest of flinches.

Trevor couldn’t blame Adrian for his preference, not when Sypha was so truly amazing, just as he couldn’t blame Sypha for hers.

Adrian might be a bastard, but he was better than Trevor. Better looking, of course, better read. He had manners and a bone-crackingly dry wit and could—most importantly—keep Sypha’s attention.

_watch as she stands_

_with her holding your hand_

_put your arm 'round her shoulder_

_now I'm getting colder_

_but how could I hate her?_

_she's such an angel_

_but then again_

_kinda wish she were dead_

Trevor was expendable. He always had been, as one of seven. Only boy, maybe, but his mother had managed to pass down the family legacy well enough as a woman, before the church came. And then, of course, there was after the fire. He was only good enough to take down the creature, or ghost, or faerie circle plaguing a village. Fail and the Belmonts would be gone for good, an ultimate ‘win’ in the battle against the darkness that seeped into Wallachia like an underground mold. Succeed and win a meal or a bed and a kick in the arse the next morning to get out of their town.

It wasn’t so different, now. Adrian _was_ the soldier, the sleeping Messiah under Gresit. Sypha _was_ the scholar, a Speaker and a magician and capable of fighting alongside the best Wallachia had to offer. Trevor was just easily accessible. All they would have to do to find another hunter was search out a for-hire monster slayer. There were fewer families than there once were, but hunters weren’t that hard to come by. 

It wasn’t new to Trevor, that inherent inferiority that came with being him, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sting when Sypha threw up her hands in genuine frustration at him or Adrian’s barbs grew too sharp and pointed. Trevor knew he brought nearly nothing compared to the burden of keeping him along. He was convenient, and the Belmont Hold a good enough draw to keep Sypha and Adrian at his side. Soon as that ran out, he was sure that they would leave him behind.

He—stupidly, fantastically, selfishly—wished he could be less of a burden, more of a help.

_as she walks by_

_what a sight for sore eyes_

_brighter than a blue sky_

_she's got you mesmerized_

_while I die_

Adrian sat watch in the back of the wagon, most days, and Sypha sat up with Trevor or walked alongside the horses. She leaned against Trevor’s shoulder, sometimes, when she sat with him. Mostly, though, she twisted to check on Adrian. It made well enough sense, after the dramatic fall the dhampir had a week into their journey due to lack of sleep and proper nutrition _((Trevor had looked the other way when Sypha insisted on giving Adrian her blood, after fervently protesting on her behalf, and even then it had been more of a show))_ , but the moments of bald _care_ made Trevor’s skin itch.

Sypha asked inane questions as they came to her, throughout noon and afternoon and evening and night and early morning—Why exactly was the sky blue? How many species of mouse lived near here, do you think? Do the Hell beasts resemble the demons that animate them or the corpses they’re made up of?—and Adrian answered with genuine thought and care. Sometimes it was so painfully clear that Sypha wasn’t expecting an answer, or didn’t care for the explanation, but she listened without interruption nonetheless. 

When all three of them rested together, either sat around a fire or tucked in the back of the wagon, the pair would coax laughs from one another as they spoke. Trevor listened because there was little else to do, and Sypha might wedge her toes beneath his leg and warm his stiff fingers in her hands.

He hated Adrian in those moments—all Sypha’s attention going to him aside from the slightest absent motion towards Trevor. At least there _was_ some attention, absent or not, and that almost made it worse.

_why would you ever kiss me_

_I’m not even half as pretty_

_you gave her your sweater_

_it’s just polyester_

_but you like her better_

Trevor felt like he was witnessing a dance only Adrian and Sypha knew, watching from the edges of a grand hall as they twirled and bowed and raised flourishing hands, occasionally an obstruction or distraction to them, but ultimately forgotten.

It wasn’t like Trevor could blame Sypha for getting caught up on Adrian. The dhampir was nearly ethereal in his beauty: ridiculously smooth, blond hair and unpitted pale skin, elegant and graceful in his movement, gentile and cordial in manner.

_((If Trevor was being honest with himself, which of course he wasn’t, it was the inverse of all these things that made him love Adrian. The tangles Adrian had to work out of his hair with his fingers and the comb Sypha had, or when he had to wring the rainwater out to stop it from dripping down his back, or the way it frizzed up at the temple as it dried. The peeling sunburn he’d gotten after a morning spent in the sun. The rare occasion when he tripped over an unexpected root or stumbled over a rock when he startled back, too tired to think to stand his ground. When he cursed under his breath, worrying fangs into soft lips, glaring at even Sypha through fringed lashes.))_

Trevor just wished...wanted...thought, for a brief flash of a moment that...well...

_I wish I were Heather_

_wish I were Heather_

_wish I were Heather_

Then, Sypha kissed him, only a few days from their destination in the ruins of his family’s home.

It was on the side of his face. An inch lower and he would’ve called it the corner of his mouth. He stared at her, feeling his eyes go wide and confused.

She laughed at him, rolling her eyes, leaning closer with her thigh against his knee. “You’ve been looking so far away,” she said, her entire face rounding and lifting into a _soft-fond-teasing_ smile.

“I-there’s a lot to preoccupy myself with,” he said, not built for whatever dance Sypha was trying to drag him into, looking away from her and hopefully ending the dangerous squirming feeling he got when he met her _soft-fond-teasing_ eyes.

Sypha scooched closer, resting her head on his shoulder. He realized he was looking at Adrian the precise moment Sypha said, “I know.”

_why would you ever kiss me?_

_I’m not even half as pretty_

_you gave her your sweater_

_it’s just polyester_

_but you like her better_

_wish I were…_

Trevor fought back the urge to flinch away from Sypha’s hip pressed against his, her hands folded around his arm, her head resting on his shoulder. He couldn’t understand what she meant—or rather, maybe he didn't want to.

Adrian was sprawled lazily in the shade of a willow tree, asleep knowing the way he could drop off instantly into slumber or in turn be completely unable to sleep for days. One knee was propped up into an upside-down v, hands folded so high on his chest it was nearly his neck, hair splayed out in the grass. His lips were parted ever so slightly in sleep, breaths even and deep.

Sypha hummed in the silence that Trevor couldn’t fill, low and content.

For the first time since he realized that Adrian was made for Sypha, Trevor didn’t feel crushed.


	2. Bruises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season 3 compliant so...nothing is all that graphic, and Sypha doesn't know what happened with Sumi and Taka, but...you know. It's there. Also everything that happened in Lindenfeld is mentioned.

_ I tried to do handstands for you _

_ I tried to do headstands for you _

_ Every time I fell on you yeah every time I fell _

Sypha had never been away from her people for so long.

It had been a month of hard travel to take down Dracula, a week of hard studying in the Belmont Hold, and another week of hard labor to clean up the worst of the blood and bodies littering the castle and Hold alike for them to be at least semi-habitable.

Those two weeks were the longest she had ever stayed in one place, too.

She had spent weeks away from the Belnades caravan, before, of course, but those weeks were spent in other caravan’s to study and learn from their mages and scholars before returning to her family shortly after. The caravan had also stayed in places for longer than a week or two, on rare occasions, but those had always entailed walking around to neighboring villages or throughout the city to aid the people there. Staying put in an enclosed space--even ones as massive of the Hold and castle--made her feel like she was choking.

_ I tried to do handstands for you _

_ But every time I fell for you _

_ I'm permanently black and blue, permanently blue _

_ For you _

She knew it was a bad idea to leave Adrian alone. He looked so...not breakable, not fragile, nothing about him could be defined like he was made of spun glass...but like he was about to fall to pieces.

She almost didn’t care, though, selfish as it was.

The road called to her--her legs aching for movement, her chest squeezed tight with  _ ((misplaced, she understood, but could anyone blame her for it after all the terrible things that happened to Speakers who overstayed their welcome?)) _ anxiety, mind begging her to go on to see what she hadn’t before.

She knew that Trevor was similar to her. There was no urge instilled after generations of nomads, in him, but there were years of wandering in his bones.

Sypha wanted to run, and run, and run until she couldn’t see Dracula’s castle looming through the trees. She wanted to slot herself back into her caravan, with her grandfather and cousin Arn and all the aunts and uncles and elders and the unnamed children she had always known, even though she knew that more than a few had to have been lost to the hordes since she’d gone. Too many had already been lost before she had left. Still, she wanted to walk beside the horses, and steer her grandfather’s wagon, and use her fingers as a torch to light the caravan’s way through the dark as she always had.

At the same time she wanted to soak in the Roman baths with their self-heating water, in the castle; and reorganize the books that had been displaced in the chaos, in the Hold; and sit between Trevor and Adrian on the half-frozen ground with wine they’d pilfered from Dracula’s cellar and laugh until they wept, as they did not long after their triumph.

_ ((Perhaps a good compromise would be sitting beside Trevor, in their little wagon, and twisting around to speak to Adrian sitting in the back; and to make up the fire as Adrian set about making up camp, complaining of how they were sure to be spotted with the smoke, even if they needed it to cook the rabbits Trevor caught for them; and to curl close in the night in the back of the wagon, legs tangled and Trevor in the middle to chase away the coolness of Adrian’s skin and the ice that lay dormant in at least half of Sypha’s body.)) _

She settled for bringing Trevor along and promising to come back to Adrian sometime soon. 

Sypha hadn’t regretted anything more.

_ I tried to do handstands for you _

_ I tried to do headstands for you _

_ Every time I fell on you yeah every time I fell _

Lindenfeld was a disaster.

The two months of travelling and trying to help people, like she had always done--like Trevor had always tried to do, despite his insistence that he stopped caring about everyone and anybody years ago--all culminated into this disaster.

How much had they really helped, anyways? There were hundreds of night creatures wandering Wallachia. Killing a couple dozen that surrounded a town wasn’t going to do much, not when other monsters would come around scarcely a week later. And what did it matter if they stopped the bandits and other criminals, when highway crime was just another way for people to get by in these nearly post-apocalyptic days? 

What did any of it matter when holy men were the ones consorting with night creatures? What did any of it matter when entire towns were sacrificed to try and bring Dracula back from the dead? What did any of it matter when an  _ outstanding _ man like the Judge of Lindenfeld had a pit full of children’s bones and a room filled with their shoes?

Sypha had never felt such rage and hatred and injustice--aimed so futily at the  _ entire fucking world _ \--as she did as she lit the Judge’s house on fire.

It was his dying  _ fucking  _ wish.

It’s not like it even mattered. The entire town was dead. Nobody who would know or care enough would ever find that room, much less piece together what it meant. 

Still, she burned and burned and  _ burned  _ it until it was ash. 

She didn’t cry, even though she wanted to. It wasn’t like she was trying not to cry, either. The tears just didn’t come.

Trevor was harsh as they left town.

Sypha didn’t blame him. He had seen the worst of humanity, far more of it than his fair share. She had thought she had, too, before. People had always  _ done _ things to Speakers that wouldn’t be acceptable to do almost anyone else. Nothing compared to this scale, though. She had never felt so  _ helpless _ to do anything about it.

“Let’s go home,” she said, after hours of travelling in silence, voice breaking as it reached above a whisper. She’d never had a home before, but she thought she might like one, this once.

“Home,” Trevor scoffed. Like her, he hardly knew what it meant anymore.

“Please, Trevor. I can’t- _ please _ _,_ can’t we just go home?”

He didn’t say anything else, but at the next crossroads he turned in the direction of the old Belmont Estate and the current location of Dracula’s no-longer-moving castle.

_ I tried to do handstands for you but every time I fell for you _

_ I'm permanently black and blue, permanently blue _

Adrian was worse than Sypha could have imagined and she hated it.

They shouldn’t have left. 

She...she had to leave, she could admit that to herself. She  _ had _ to get out of the castle and away from the Hold and all the terrible things that happened. She had to understand how the world was now, had to understand that she wouldn’t be able to fix everything she came across, had to realize that she didn’t have to spend the rest of her life on the road. She thinks Trevor needed it too, at least on some level.

That didn’t change that they shouldn’t have left Adrian alone.

Sure someone had to stay with the undefended Hold, and the empty castle, but...there had to have been some other way.

Now Adrian was halfway feral, starved, and broken. And she didn’t know how to fix it.

“We shouldn’t have left,” she told Trevor after they had managed to wrangle at least some of the story about the two bodies staked up at the front door. There was more to it than just rogue hunters, that much she knew, even if she kind of didn't want to know the rest.

“Well, we did,” he said flatly.

“What’s  _ wrong _ with you?” she demanded. “We left and now he’s-we didn’t even have a good reason for leaving! We accomplished nothing!”

Trevor sighed and sounded so tired that Sypha felt her anger slip away. “Yeah, well, doesn’t change the fact that we left. Can’t change the past.”

She left him on the couch in one of the many sitting rooms.

_ For you ooh _

_ For you ooh _

_ So black and blue ooh _

_ For you ooh _

“Will you come walk with me?” she asked Adrian.

Adrian looked at her through narrowed eyes, looking for all the world a stone statue in his stiff wooden seat, save for the slightest rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

“Why should I come?” he asked her.

Sypha tried to smile as gentle as she could, without letting too much pity slip through. “I miss talking with you. And it’s hardly any fun to walk alone.”

He came with and stayed an arms length away and hardly spoke at all. 

The next day she invited him down to the Hold with her, employing his help in tracking down a few dozen of the tomes she had spotted during their frantic week spent there. He still stayed a half dozen feet away and rarely spoke, but the corners of his mouth lifted more than once as Sypha prattled on about nothing important.

The day after that she dragged Trevor and Adrian both out with her to assess where a garden should go, when the earth finally thawed enough to start planting. The boys sniped back and forth at each other for almost a full two minutes, and Adrian laughed at Trevor when he slipped on a patch of ice, and he caught her by the elbow and held her up when she slipped not even five minutes later.

_ I grabbed some frozen strawberries so I could ice your bruising knees _

_ But frozen things they all unfreeze and now I taste like _

_ All those frozen strawberries I used to chill your bruising knees _

_ Hot July ain't good to me _

_ I'm pink and black and blue (For you) _

Things got better over the winter.

They found out that Trevor couldn’t bake worth shit, as much as he could make an excellent meal. Sypha  _ didn’t _ blow up the oven by accident. It was a calculated baking decision that...didn’t go according to plan. That particular kitchen--nearest the guest wing that they had been mostly occupying--wasn’t as unusable as the boys made it sound. As long as you didn’t need the stove, oven, more than the couple feet of surviving counter space, any sort of storage...okay so it was pretty well and thoroughly ruined. Adrian took over their bread production, from then on, and they started using the next closest kitchen which was in an entirely different wing than they were staying in.

There were hours spent organizing and categorizing all the different objects in the castle, as well as much more thorough cleanings as needed. Trevor and Adrian worked together to rebuild shelves for the Hold and the destroyed bookcases in the castle’s libraries. With only mild threatening Trevor reluctantly began to exercise his rusty reading and writing skills.

Adrian didn’t fully explain what those two people were doing up on stakes, but he asked Sypha to burn them and for Trevor to take the ashy stumps of the stakes away. 

It was...progress. Adrian had been through so much in the past few years. He didn’t look it, those vampire-inherited features smoothing his face into something ambiguously young but not truly  _ young _ . He was the youngest of all three of them. Only seventeen when his mother died. Eighteen when he had to kill his father. Eighteen when those two hunters did whatever they did to him that made him stake them up. Barely nineteen now, and still only starting to heal.

_ I got bruises on my knees for you _

_ And grass stains on my knees for you _

_ Got holes in my new jeans for you _

_ Got pink and black and blue _

Whatever the three had before Sypha and Trevor left--whatever Trevor and Sypha had when they were alone together on the road--was gone now. Or, at least, absent.

Sypha couldn’t sleep in the quiet of her own room. There had always been someone above her or below her in their bunk, or just outside the thin walls of the wagon, or scarcely ten feet away sleeping in their own wagon, or animals shrieking out in the woods, or horses chomping at their bits, or a fire crackling away. The silence was terrible. Deafening. Suffocating.

She knew Trevor was hardly sleeping, too. She ran into him wandering the halls often enough, wearing nothing but a pair of pants and boots on his feet, some sort of weapon in hand. She didn’t see Adrian as often, but she knew that he was hardly sleeping either. 

They all had nightmares, obviously. That wasn’t something that you just avoid after doing everything they did.

The best sleep she’d gotten since they returned to the castle was half falling off the couch in the sitting room that they most often found themselves in, on the nights that getting absolutely shit faced seemed the best option. They weren’t all that drunk that time, though, just exhausted and avoiding retiring to their individual rooms for the night.

Trevor was warm and solid between them, as he always had been. Adrian was distant and cool at the start, until he absorbed some of their shared body heat and inevitably ended up clinging. Sypha woke up with her ass half off the couch and one of Adrian’s legs tangled between where hers were curled up over Trevor’s and her head on Trevor’s shoulders and she thought that this might work.

_ Got bruises on my knees for you _

_ And grass stains on my knees for you _

_ Got holes in my new jeans for you _

_ Got pink and black and blue _

By some mutual, unspoken agreement they started congregating in Trevor’s room after that night.

He was the only one actually able to fall asleep, most nights. 

Sypha started to slip in after lying in her own bed for what could’ve been fifteen minutes or a few hours. Later, she stopped caring for the propriety of it all and came in after she’d slipped into a nightgown, while Trevor was still awake.

The first time Adrian came in, a week after Sypha had started doing so, he froze in the doorway as he saw the both of them. Sypha offered him a sleepy smile and curled up tighter against Trevor’s side. She’d almost completely dropped off by the time Adrian had hesitantly pulled back the blankets and joined them.

They all had nightmares, still, of course.

But it was better to be with the others, she thought. Better to jolt awake and find their faces. Better to be able to hold Trevor when he shook awake. Better to be able to shake Adrian so he could wake up, even if he took months to stop fleeing when he awoke. 

Sometime in the spring, Sypha realized she hadn’t been in her own room in a long time. Her clothes had all been moved after washing days to Trevor’s room.

Their room.

_ For you ooh _

Sypha contemplated the little green sprouts they were nursing in their garden. What they represented.

She was making a promise to stay her long enough to harvest them, by helping plant them. To stay and eat them, come winter. And winter would mark an entire  _ year _ spent here. The first of many, maybe.

_ For you ooh _

She sent a message through a caravan of Speakers, meant for her grandfather. He knew where she was, or would given a little time. She wouldn’t be surprised if her caravan came through their way, at some point. Maybe just her grandfather and a few others.

Arn would come, of course, her irritating cousin who was raised by their grandfather just like her. Nehir, maybe. She was interested in Arn enough to maybe marry him soon. Maybe a few of the aunts, or uncles, if they didn’t have too many little ones to look after.

_ So black and blue ooh _

It wasn’t that she wasn’t with her family.

Sypha felt the wanderlust in her bones. The ache that had driven her to leave Adrian with Trevor at her side, all those months ago. The drive to  _ move _ , to walk and walk and walk until she was somewhere new.

Trips to the surrounding towns, sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied by one of the boys, were hardly enough to stave off the urge for more than a few days after they’d returned.

_ For you ooh _

But she was settling. 

Both literally and metaphorically.

Maybe Trevor and Adrian hadn’t said it, not out loud, but they would do the same for her. They already were.

She saw the way Trevor mostly stopped drinking--how he worked through the shaking and nausea and insomnia with gritted teeth. Saw the way he stopped looking so hurt every time he was even a little bit excluded. Saw the way he started talking like this was a permanent situation, rather than just another stop along the road.

She saw the way Adrian tried to meet them both halfway, despite that roiling hurt he had been left with. The way he let them coax him from that ledge he’d been wavering on, in some dark corner of his mind. The way he tried to act like a human being and not a vampire that had gone over the edge. It was okay when he stumbled back, because he  _ was _ hurt and had a dark corner and was only half human.

Sypha was okay with it all. She loved them too much to have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Sypha is often ignored in her...traumas? Issues? It makes sense since she doesn't have a tangible canon trauma, like the boys, but I don't think you need to invent childhood trauma for her to still have her own problems. Obviously they're not going to be on the same level as Trevor given what happened to his family, or Adrian given what happened to /his/ family, but...you know what I mean. 
> 
> I imagine that Sypha probably gave up the most entering into this relationship. Trevor had nothing before, so he had basically nothing but gains, and to no fault of Sypha and Trevor Adrian was in a similar position in "other options" as Trevor. Sypha, though, she was giving up her caravan--with all the culture, family, and travelling that this entails.
> 
> I don't know, drop a comment and let me know what you think. 😊
> 
> Here's my [tumblr](https://omegros.tumblr.com/) if you want to drop by.
> 
> Here's the [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w8HRCacAQ-4) inspiring this chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> The song is Heather by Conan Gray


End file.
